Saw Drabbles
by MistressMaryD
Summary: A collection of randomly inspired drabbles taking place during any and all of the movies. Expect OOC, A/U, wierd/random pairings...just about anything really. Nothing's off limits with me. No flames please.
1. Chapter 1

Saw Drabbles

_A/N: A collection of short drabbles based in and around the characters from the "Saw" series using songs as prompts. Expect A/U, OOC, weird pairings and noob-ness since this is my first attempt at the 'Drabble' concept. No flames please! And remember, its fiction! And therefore open for interpretation. ^_^_

"Stockholm Syndrome" - Blink 182

"_I'm so lost, I'm barely here; I wish I could explain myself but words escape me. You're cold with disappointment, while I'm drowning in the next room; the last contagious victim of this plague between us. I'm sick with apprehension, This is the first thing I remember, now it's the last thing left on my mind. Afraid of the dark, you hear me whisper; an empty heart. Life's temporary, like new year's resolutions."_

Dr. Lawrence Gordon doesn't feel like he used to.

Simple things; like enjoying a sunny day or a really good cup of coffee. And even bigger things; that cute new nurse that eyes him as he walks into his office every morning, or one of his rare weekends with his daughter.

He knows he should feel happy. And he does. But not as deeply as he used to. And that's not saying much.

He feels…numb. Empty. Something is lacking and he can't quite figure out what it is.

Because his test, his game; is always in the back of his mind. And the more he finds himself thinking about it; as months and then years pass, the more it makes sense to him. The lesson he learned couldn't be taught any other way; otherwise, it would've lacked weight.

That's why, when he finds himself dialing the number left for him on an otherwise plain index card; he almost sighs when the rough voice of John Kramer answers.

Because John will know how to fix him. He did it once before.

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"Forget To Remember" - Mudvayne

"_What have I done? Where have I come from? When I burnt their backs with the sun through a glass, did I seal the loss that's become me? When I turned my back on you, I turned my back on myself and became this machine. I feel it on the inside, twisting and contorting; memory has shaped me once again. Still feel you on the inside, biting through and stinging; will I ever forget to remember? Can you save me, from myself? From these memories?"_

Amanda lets out an appreciative moan as the cold metal of the surgical scalpel bites into her thigh; crimson blood flowing smoothly across her alabaster skin and staining the white towel under her leg. So bright is the red against the cloth that it appears to be loudly crying out; condemning her for her actions.

She likes the color red. It surprises her how much blood a person can lose and still live. It surprises her that she's _lived_ through these 'stress relief' sessions; with the little knife, towel, cotton balls and alcohol.

They are her blessing and her curse.

They are the ties that bind her to who she used to be and everything that is wrong with her.

They are reason enough to be ashamed. What would John say if he discovered her like this?

She shakes her head and lets out a sharp gasp as one cut turns out to be a little too deep. She drops her head back and a few tears slip past her closed eyes as she simply lets the scent of iron linger…before picking up the cotton balls and alcohol and patching herself up.

She finishes wrapping her thighs and has just pulled her jeans up and buckled her belt when she hears a rough bark of her name. That contemptuous voice belongs to a man who knows she's still what she used to be; despite John's work. And he knows her secret.

She raises her head, wipes her eyes and leaves her room to see what the fuck Hoffman wants now.

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"Do You Wanna Play A Game?" Oxygen

"_We go through life sweeping demons under the beds we sleep in. And I am trapped inside this twisted world until my game begins. All my lies and my mistakes are catching up with me today. It's time to pay for what you've done; do you wanna play a game? Cuz what you are and what I am is the sickness I've become now. I'll cut you up and down and inside out and rip you limb from limb. There will be bloodshed, there will be nightmares, there will be slicing of the skin."_

{{"Amanda will fail you."

"We'll see." The sickly engineer replies weakly.

Mark Hoffman scoffs as he swiftly leaves the room. He knows better. She _will _fail. Because he's made it impossible for her to succeed. Its dirty, under-handed, cruel blackmail. But he wants her gone. She's a liability and he won't clean up after her like John has. And he won't tolerate her death-traps. Or her attitude.

"_When's your test, detective?" _Cynical, junkie bitch_._

"_I don't need one."_

"_Oh yeah?"_

_He grabbed her wrist._

"_Yeah, cause I didn't take my life for granted." He smirked, that stung her._

"_You're still dragging your knuckles on the ground. What do you know about life?" She asks, ignorantly._

"_Get used to me, cause I ain't going anywhere." She says in a cocky manner, ignoring her previous unanswered question._

"_You sure about that?" His dark whisper shakes her, he knows it did._}}

He exits the building, chuckling softly to himself for he knows just how things will turn out. He controls everything; right under John's nose.

This is what he thinks about as he fights desperately to remove the Reverse Bear trap from his head.

Mark wasn't a religious man; nor did he ever believe in karma. But it was a rather large coincidence that he found himself trapped like Amanda had been.

When the screwdriver doesn't work and he can feel the time passing him all too quickly; he hesitates for a mere second. Wondering if this is how it ends.

With an almighty lunge forward, he crashes the metal through the glass window on the door; and the trap springs open, unable to fully engage because the bars between the glass prevent it.

He sighs deeply before realizing a burning pain on the left side of his face. With a pained grunt, he pulls himself out of the trap and it springs open as it clatters to the ground.

Bleeding profusely, he drops to his knees and lets out a tortured scream.

When he can stand and collect himself; he takes the trap and leaves the room, stopping at a shelf for gauze for his hand and face.

In spite of the pain, his mind focuses on his next objective; he's going to kill Jill Tuck for what she did to him. Come hell or high water.

No one fucks with Mark Hoffman and gets away with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Author's notes:**

**This chapter has some sexual stuffs in it! Don't be surprised; my readers know that's one of the parts I do best. XD Nothing too graphic but still; it earns its M rating here.**

**(This one's too long for a drabble, more of a one-shot but meh. You guys don't care; right?)**

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Mark HoffmanXOriginal Female Character

"Run This Town" Rihanna and Jay-Z

"_Life's a game but it's not fair; I break the rules so I don't care. So I keep doing my own thing; walking tall against the rain. Victory's within the mile, almost there; don't give up now. Only thing that's on my mind; who's gonna run this town tonight? We gonna run this town tonight."_

The rain pours down in freezing sheets; hard enough to burn any exposed skin. The two hooded figures hunting in the darkness don't care, they hardly notice as thunder shakes the earth and lightning splits the sky in half overhead.

Because they've got something important to do.

Their target comes within sight, restlessly pacing back and forth in a dirty, dark back alley behind a bar. The female grins a predatory smile as she strokes the syringe in her coat pocket; a smile her partner knows is there even though her own mask conceals her face. She wears a disturbing jester mask that grins evilly; something from a video game, she'd told him once. He too smirks under his mask before re-focusing his attention on the belligerent drunk in front of them.

This guy, their target; isn't small of stature at all. He's grossly overweight and it's no surprise that it takes him so long to reach the point of oblivion with the help of alcohol. Mark catches the gaze of his chosen partner before she strikes; and the clarity and determination that fills her dark eyes almost shakes him. It would… if it didn't turn him on.

Silently, they approach; keeping to the shadows as they get closer and still haven't been noticed.

All at once; the woman rushes; even that silent, wrapping an arm around the man's neck and pulling tight enough to cut off his air. He gasps, chokes and cries out; seemingly in one single noise as she withdraws her hand from her pocket, viciously sinks the full syringe into his neck and pushes the plunger down.

Mark watches because she has to learn; has to do it on her own. But he's there if she needs him. For a moment; he thinks she might be in trouble. The heavily intoxicated man throws his head back and catches her square in the nose. She stumbles back some and shakes her head with a low growl and he can see the blood dripping down the purple and gold mask.

With an angry hiss; she side steps and swiftly kicks the drunk's feet from under him; effectively dropping him. The drugs finally begin to grab him; he's unable to rise, his thick hands grab at her ankles but she coldly steps back and watches him as his consciousness leaves him.

She removes her harlequin mask and holds a sleeve to her broken nose; shooting a dirty glare at the unconsciousness man at her feet and Mark thinks she's going to kick him.

She doesn't.

"After we get his fat ass in the car; I need you to fix my nose." She says; her voice a low, angry rumble. Mark almost laughs as he shakes his head and removes his pig mask, shaking out his wet hair and approaching the prone body. Carelessly, he drags the man by his arms and up to the well hidden get-away vehicle; shoving him in the trunk and tying his legs and wrists before slamming the trunk and going back to his partner.

"Good job." He praises her and she smiles, in spite of her hard character.

"Thanks. Now fix my fucking nose! Shit hurts, ya know?" She said, sounding congested as her nose bled over her lips; staining them crimson. He rolls his eyes but approaches her all the same; pulling her into a rough kiss and licking the blood off her lips before pulling away and setting her nose before she could recover.

"You fuckin' motherfucker!" She shrieks, shoving him and covering her nose with her hands. He chuckles. "I had to distract you; otherwise you'd have kicked me and that's not good for either of us." She simply smolders at him…before sighing deeply and giving him a small smile. "Why do I ever expect anything different from you?"

**Mark HoffmanXAmanda Young**

(He just doesn't seem to fit with anyone but an OC or her to me for some reason….Even another guy wouldn't make sense…Maybe Jill…Maybe. I'll stop now. ^_^) I apologize in advance for the vulgarity of the song as well.

"Fuck Me Like You Hate Me" - Seether

"_You could've been the one enough for me. You could've been the broken down and sick one; remnant of a vacant life. You come around when you finally face this; you come around when you find me faithless. Fuck me like you hate me, dig it up and tear it down; I love the sound when you come undone. You could've been the real one, you could've been the last one I lie with; I should've been the one who died."_

She drops her head back with a grateful moan as his hips meet hers and he growls in satisfaction as they're intimately joined. But there's no love here.

Fuck reason, fuck feelings, fuck their situation. Just fuck it all to hell; they don't care at this point.

She strains against his hands; roughly holding her wrists down as they hurry towards completion. A quickie is the only choice when there's so much else to do for the games. And the fear of getting caught also weighs in. But that just makes it hotter.

He chuckles at her efforts to fight him; she should know better now. "Fuckin' bitch, even now ya gotta push me." He mutters against her ear, causing her to shiver.

Sometimes she wonders if he means it.

Sometimes she _knows_ he means all the nasty things he says to her.

It doesn't matter; he's a good fuck and it's hit-it-and-quit-it. No strings, no false niceties. No promises. It is what it is, just sex to keep themselves sane.

Amanda will never tell him this is the only time she actually feels…_good_.

He wouldn't care anyway, would he?

"Shut the fuck up, you pretentious ass. Your voice is ruining it for me." She snaps back, in typical Amanda/Hoffman fashion.

It's best this doesn't turn personal. It'll just make life even harder.

"Big talk for someone who can't defend themselves." He teases, tightening his grip on her wrists to further his point. He gives a particularly well angled thrust and she moans out loud, her eyes falling shut and her lips parting slightly.

"Fuck you." She gasps, fists clenching as he expertly manipulates her body in a way only he can. Her nails bite into her palms and she knows she's drawn blood. Someday, she'll leave her marks on his back; she's sick of being the only one with 'battle wounds'.

"I believe _you're_ the one getting fucked." He replies smoothly, not once breaking stride or loosening his grip on her. His smooth, easy, quick comebacks piss her off; one of the reasons she hates him.

She'll never tell him what else she thinks of him; she vows to herself as she throws her head back with a satisfied cry.

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**Peter Strahm - Standalone**

(I wants to play with Strahm's obsession a little. ^_^ Hot blooded, quick tempered Peter; you're just too fun to play with. And so is his "I know who you are! I know!" *points* Gotta laugh at it. But I love the man. Really. Even if he is a fail sometimes.)

"Monochrome" - Helmet

"_I can fill in your blanks; just like reading your mind. Everybody's got opinions; well I know I've got mine. We're running a race, ain't you tired? Just make up your mind. We're only running a race, ain't I tired? Have you taken aim, found someone to blame? Does it make you feel better? You're alright, now; you're better."_

He growls; guttural, low in his throat. He's pissed as hell and there isn't a thing to do about it. His partner is dead, countless others follow her example; because of a few sick fucks.

He knows; he absolutely fucking _knows_ that Hoffman's involved.

Jigsaw doesn't make mistakes; his restraints broke? As far as Strahm's concerned, he can blow his story out his ass. He's a bad liar on top of being a dirty cop and psychopath.

And how dare Erickson take him off this? After all that's happened? Erickson can suck it if he thinks Strahm's gonna back off so easy. This is his fucking case and he'll work it, whether he's authorized to or not. This is his fight now. And he won't let it go.

So yes, he's committed a federal offence; a felony, stealing files to an ongoing, high-profile case. But it's his case, he can do whatever he damn-well pleases.

He's aware, vaguely, that his obsession is starting to consume him. That's what makes him a good cop; he convinces himself, not willing to acknowledge that he's losing his grip on sanity. He'll relax after the Jigsaw cases are closed, he tells himself; go to Hawaii or someplace warm and sunny. Laying out on the beach with a hard drink and tight young woman and enjoy himself. He's deserved it after all.

But not until this is over.

Hours pass in front of an increasingly bright and hard to look at computer monitor; squinting at the small front on the case files in the light from the monitor. He hasn't eaten or had anything to drink; so wholly focused on this one thing.

He should be recovering from his wounds. From that fucking trap. He knew Hoffman somehow stuck him in that cursed box; intending to kill him and emerge the hero, everyone none the wiser that he was behind everything.

He just had to prove it to everyone else that he was right and Hoffman was a liar and a murderer. A few more hours…Maybe go check out the crime scenes…what would it hurt?

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_I apologize for my random before-the-story commentary. I enjoy it though. I'm sure you guys did too. Or can at least ignore it and appreciate the story. Thanks to Divine Arion and SawManiac211 for the alerts, favs and reviews! 3 Thank you both! I loves you! _

_MistressMaryD_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**John Kramer - Standalone**

_(Gotta show some love for John; and I do! I feel for the dude.)_

"Pain" - Three Days Grace

"_Trust me, I've got a plan. When the lights go out, you'll understand. I know that you're wounded; you know that I'm here to save you. You know that I'm always here for you. I know that you'll thank me later." _

He sighs and rubs his tired eyes. The ink and lead sketches start to bleed together as he looks them over; searching for flaws in his own designs.

He's tired, but can't sleep. What he's doing is important; sleep can wait.

Sometimes he wonders how long it'll take before the rest of the world realizes that his methods work. The survivors are his living, breathing proof. No one can deny that. It's a simple concept; lab rats can be trained to avoid actions that cause them pain. It makes them tether the memory to stimuli and prevents them from performing the same action later. It's called 'conditioning'.

Humans can be conditioned too. If the stimuli is strong enough.

He takes a moment and tears his eyes away from his notebook. Amanda's sleeping in a cot not too far from him; curled up and hiding her head in her pillow. She looks so much like a child when she sleeps. But she's seen and done things that would destroy a child.

She knows so much; but there's so much more he needs to teach her. He wonders if he has enough time.

He knows that she is flawed and broken. But he's going to fix that; that's what a parent does.

He sighs softly and shakes his head with a small smile before directing his attention back to his work. His lack of concentration surprises him tonight. Usually, it's no trouble at all to focus on what needs to be done; but he finds his mind wandering to Jill. He misses her.

But its better for both of them that she isn't so close. She doesn't want to be, and he's glad. He respects that. He understands.

He understands a lot. One would believe a frontal lobe tumor would diminish his lucidity; far from it, he found he was more focused and seeing things clearer than he could remember. It's often said that great intelligence is a burden. It is and it isn't. He feels saddened for those that don't understand.

But sometimes he wishes he didn't understand so well either.

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_(I'm a Hoffman fangirl; can't you tell? XD Where my fellow fangirls at? Lol!)_

**Mark HoffmanXOriginal Female Character**

"Dead Is The New Alive" - Emilie Autumn

"_Dead is the new alive. Despair's the new survival. A pointless point of view. Get in, get in, get in. You play the game, you'll never win. So take me now or take me never, choose your pain; how else can we survive? So say good-bye or say forever. Dead is the new alive. A quick taste of the poison, a quick twist of the knife. The obsession with death becomes a way of life."_

Mark Hoffman likes a challenge. He likes to fix things.

He has a thing for damaged women. He's not quite sure why, he just does. Maybe his line of work? His 'other' job perhaps?

Regardless, he doesn't really care. Because the woman under him isn't as damaged as they both originally thought. For someone who's been through nothing short of hell, she's remarkably stable. A glint of silver catches his eye; in the shape of a puzzle piece her necklace reminds them both.

She's a victim.

She's a survivor.

She doesn't know the detective she's sleeping with is directly involved with what happened to her.

Silver stained fingernails bite into his shoulders and a very audible hiss is heard as she draws in a strained breath.

He knows; she'll be lucky if she can remember the passionate events of the night. He knows her secret. She drinks too much to forget; going for short-lived comfort in his arms only to wake up the next morning to an empty bed and shrug it off.

And the cycle repeats itself.

He finds himself wanting to tell her the truth; especially when he's face to face with the woman drowning herself in booze, much like he used to.

It's strange, being so close to someone after a test he knew he was responsible for. And sometimes, he does feel responsible for her problems. Yes; he actually listens when she's up to her eyeballs in vodka, pouring her soul to him in a bar because it's the only time she can bring herself to talk about it.

It bothers him; that he can't fix her like he could an error on a trap.

But that's because he's allowed himself to get closer than he should've.

Despite all this however, it's easy to forget what grisly consequences brought them to this point. She rarely talks about it (unless she's had too much of her too much) and he doesn't ask unless it gets to that point.

She grins, that one-sided twitch of her glossed lips being her tell. He knows she's about to make a move. It's not uncommon for her to fight him for dominance; probably an after-effect of her game. Every once in a while, he lets her have it.

Like now.

It's a smooth, fluid kind of motion as she easily topples him and rises up; leaning back on her hands and letting out a short, hollow laugh. She confidently takes the reins and he leans back to enjoy the show. Its fun to indulge every once in a while.

After they've both reached that high and come down; she turns to him as she leans up on one arm. "What did you want to tell me?"

_(I'm feeling Hoffman-centric lately so expect to see lots of these.)_

"Badass" - Saliva

"_I need you to hear this loud and clear. The line in the sand has been drawn and I have no fear. When I see red, all I need is a reason to throw it down; to take you out. Don't take this past the point of no return; you don't want this kind of lesson learned."_

**Mark Hoffman and Jill Tuck**

He's a clever man; that much is obvious as he's managed to sneak into the precinct; undetected, right under everyone's noses. Not like that rat Gibson would've been bright enough to catch on anyway.

As soon as the body bag is opened, he strikes; swift and deadly like a cobra. And with an easy thrust of the knife; the medical examiner is out, that's what he gets for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And calling out the puzzle piece evidence.

Detective Hoffman rises to his feet and lets the lifeless body fall away. The M.E's assistant is next, surprised as he opens the door to the morgue to be met with a leather gloved hand to the mouth and knife to the soft flesh under his jaw.

A FBI detective is going into the evidence room and without even needing to think; Mark takes him out too; dropping the body and stepping over the spread-eagled man carelessly.

He's only got eyes for one person. And she's in a cell; thinking she's safe.

She's not safe from him. His desire for revenge has consumed him entirely; and he thirsts for her blood.

A nameless female tech gives a struggle but he doesn't stab her; he needs her to look unharmed to get access to the guarded room just before lockup. He snarls softly as one hand catches her chin and the other rests at the base of her skull; he twists quickly and hears that sharp snap that tells him she's no longer among the living.

He almost feels guilty, killing this innocent woman. But it's a necessary death. And at least it was swift and painless. Dragging the body by her hair; he lifts it in front of him and before the door as he knocks. It opens seconds later; he's already dropped the body and lunged forward to stab the man behind it.

Too easy. The man he attacks does stumble against a filing cabinet and makes a little noise but it doesn't matter. He's almost there.

Mark takes the dead man's gun and carefully lines up his shot; not for Jill, but for the last remaining person in his way to her. He fires, the two-way glass shatters; perfect shot, through and through the man's left eye. He's that much closer now and his excitement is building.

Jill immediately starts screaming for help. Too bad there's nobody to hear her but him. Mark smiles.

He comes around into the room she's in and she shuffles back against the wall in the cell; as far from him as she can get, but it's a futile effort. "I've been lookin' for you." He informs. He lifts the keys from the guarding detective's body and lets himself into her cell.

He gives a rather insane smirk as he walks in; leaning too close to her to intimidate her even more. "How do I look?" At first, he thinks she'll pass out; she doesn't. She lets out a scream and brings her right arm up and around, stabbing him in the neck with something and running off when he backs up a step.

He growls as he rips the nail file out of his neck and turns; pursuing his prey once more.

Just his luck! She's retreated to the evidence room; all the other doors locked, he knew she'd run. He walks in slowly, deliberately; knowing she can hear every step.

She whimpers and he hears it; behind a small desk. He turns and cuts off her escape with a grin. She tries to stand and flee but he won't have that. She's his now and she's gonna know it. He sends a nasty kick to her stomach, effectively leveling her.

She gives a soft cry and slides halfway down the wall. She tries to run again as he closes in; with a sadistic smirk Mark grabs her hair.

"You," He slams her head down on the metal desk.

"Fucking," Once more, she's bleeding a little and gasping now.

"Cunt." A third, final time and there's rivulets of blood staining her face as she groans and her head falls back; no doubt the swelling in her brain starting from cracking her skull and disrupting the pressure.

He picks her limp body up easily on one shoulder, walking her over to the middle of the room and dragging a near by chair. He drops her down and retrieves a few of the soft restraints from evidence bags on the desk; trapping her as he was trapped.

Casually, he walks over to the shelves housing all manner of sinister devises; most of which he's used on people or made himself. He sees the newer bear trap that was intended on killing him and ponders about that…before seeing the older, heavier one used on Amanda. How funny for him.

He picks it up and sets to securing it on Jill's head; she's still unconscious up to when he closes a padlock on the back and slips the key in his pocket. Her eyes snap open as he starts the timer at thirty seconds.

Realization dawns on her surprisingly quickly for her head trauma and it just makes him happier that she'll be aware of him watching her die.

She struggles against her restraints for a few short moments. She meets his eyes as she struggling stops; he sees the fear reflected in them and watches the hope be consumed by it.

The trap springs open; brutally ripping her jaw apart. Her head stays raised just long enough for Mark to appreciate the sight of her jaw muscles and tendons straining and tearing, blood pouring out of everywhere it seems. Her head falls and a few fleshy pieces of muscle fall into her bloodied lap and he turns his head.

He's got what he wanted; feels vindicated and satisfied as he leaves the precinct. The games are done, John is dead and gone, Amanda gone, Strahm, Perez, Erickson, Gibson; anyone who can implicate him is dead, any usable evidence will soon be destroyed (though they haven't found his hideout yet) And Jill Tuck has gotten her comeuppance for daring to try to take him out. He's the sole survivor.

Mark truly does feel like a badass.

_{Sorry for the uber long-ness of the last one but it had to be done after I heard that song. ^_^ Hope y'all enjoyed this one as much as the others!}_


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